


Bloodhound

by GhostGarrison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Boyking!Sam, M/M, Mark of Cain, Mild Blood, Murder, Power Play, moc!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is inches from losing control—actual control, to the point where Sam’s hand would be forced to stop him, using his hellish powers against his own kin—and it would be better for all those in the room, Sam and his demon legion included, if Dean was reigned in before it happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodhound

When Sam enters the scene, it’s gruesome. A large group of demons is pressed against the walls of the room, either witnesses or drawn by the commotion. They part for Sam as he strides in, arriving after having been told that Dean requires him.

When Sam finally sees him, in the center of the crowd, it causes him to stop in his tracks.

The blood in the air is strong, and Sam inhales it deeply. _Ah, demon blood._

Clutching the First Blade in his hand, Dean stands silently and shakes. Sam can’t tell if it’s out of anger or something else. There’s a body on the ground—a demon, one of Sam’s own, Dean’s chosen victim. Whoever it is— _was_ —Sam hopes they deserved it, what was done to them, but Dean isn’t known for killing only those who deserve it.

Sometimes he just isn’t discriminate with his kills.

"Dean," Sam says, watching his brother carefully. The crowd of demons hushes to a silence as their king speaks. Dean’s hands stop shaking but he doesn’t turn around to face him. The situation is worse than he thought— _Dean_ is in worse shape than he thought. ”Hear my heartbeat?”

Dean gives no indication of response to the question, or of hearing him at all. He stands there, looming over the body of the demon that has been slashed to the point past recognition. Just like the floor, Dean’s covered in fresh blood, staining his clothes and skin and hair a dark crimson. It glistens in the low light of Hell’s fires.

The sight is fearsome and the scene scares the demons the encircle the area, all standing a good distance away in case they think he’ll lash out again. Sam thinks it’s beautiful—that _Dean_ is beautiful, looking and acting like this. The body on the floor is a work of art and Dean is the genius behind it.

Sam couldn’t be more proud.

But for the best, it has to stop. Dean is on the brink, the legion is scared, and Sam wants to keep an orderly Hell. As their king, he has his duty.

“Dean,” Sam addresses him again, this time a little more forcefully, a frown gracing his lips. “Do you hear it?”

The mark on Dean’s forearm flashes in tune with the beating of his own heartbeat, tainted blood pulsing through the veins underneath. He still stands there, tense and completely still other than the heaving breaths that rip through his lips, stemming from adrenaline. His fingers rub gently against each other, absently testing the feel of the drying blood that coats them.

"I know you can," Sam says, and it’s the truth. Dean can most certainly hear it—Dean can hear his heartbeat from rooms away, he can hear people breathe hard and labored when he hunts them down and their heartbeat become erratic when he repeatedly plunges his knife into their flesh.

"Just focus on that."

Dean is inches from losing control—actual control, to the point where Sam’s hand would be forced to stop him, using his hellish powers against his own kin—and it would be better for all those in the room, Sam and his demon legion included, if Dean was reigned in before it happened.

"Dean," Sam commands, snapping his fingers once. Just once. "Come back to me."

Immediately, Dean stands up straight, giving the cold body on the floor one last glaring look before using his sleeve to wipe some blood off his face—only to end up smearing it more across his pale freckled skin. He retreats across the room, withdrawing from the scene obediently, back to his rightful place at Sam’s side.

The demons in the room seem uncomfortably relieved, and Sam wants to smile because his dear Dean causes such a reaction out of them. Maybe they’ll be more careful from now on.

But then he actually smiles, realizing that Dean is calmed once more using only the presence of Sam. It only took words, no otherworldly powers, to get Dean to return from the edge. The power of their bond, the power of Sam.

Sam’s life, his breathing, his heartbeat, his _existence_ keeps Dean centered and aligned.

**Author's Note:**

> It's short, but I liked it enough to post it. The prompt part of it was "Hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that."
> 
> Written for dustandhalos on Tumblr, find me there @ GhostGarrison


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